Bangalore pangs

My beautiful city is under seige. Held at ransom by an invisible army. An army of committed communal conscripts. Of religious renegades looking for retribution.

The shadow of a man rides a charred excuse for a rickshaw in front of me. Tears streaming down his face. His hennaed beard blown from side to side by the wind coming through a windshieldless void in front of him. The seats at the back are still smoldering as is the anger and helplessness inside him. He brushes his emotions aside with a swipe of his dirty sleeve, leaving his face smudged.

I ride on past the remains of another 4 rickshaws that lie smoking. Belly-up in total subjugation, even in death. Like crushed cockroaches on the roadside.

A little futher I come upon a bus. Or what once used to be. Glass lies everywhere. Small fragments littering the road. Symbolising the shattered spirit of the city.

What is it that makes these maurading madmen pick on public transportation to vent their venom? Glance through photographs of any riot in India. The first casuality is often a Public transport bus. The Emergency, the Mandal Commission, the Indira Gandhi riots, the Mumbai riots. In each case, you can see a burning bus in every photograph.

I turn a corner and am face to face with the devil in camouflage. He wears the garb of the ordinary man. You'd have passed him on the way to work everyday with not a glance. But today you dare not ignore him or the very large crudgel in his hands. This is his time. He shall speak and you will listen.

"Ellie Hogtaidira?" a surprisingly nasal, almost squeaky voice asks me. I would have expected death to ask me where I'm going in a baritone instead of a shaky soprano. My kannada is sparse and unconvincing so I pretend to have a toothache. "Doctor ge hogbeko!" I answer.

Suddenly I'm kin. We're brothers, tied together with the umbellical cord of discomfort. I've touched a chord. Or a nerve more likely. He winces, and waves me onwards. Anger condensed into concern in the distilling pot of pain.

I ride on home thinking O Henry was right. Pain does make the world kin.

Keeping it real with B.I.G.

Fuck the luck, shit, strictly aim,
no aspirations to quit the game.

Spit your game,
talk your shit,
grab your gat,
call your click,
squeeze your clip, hit the right one.
Pass thatweed, I gotstalight one.
All them niggas, I gotsta fight one.
All them hoes,Igotsta like one.
Our situation is a tight one.
What youwanna do: fight or run?

Seems to me that you'll takeB,
Bone and B.I.G., nigga, die slowly.
I'm a tellyoulike a nigga told me,
cash rules everything 'round me.

One more Matinee

Here's why Mark Knopfler rules.

One more matinee!

Here's One Of The Two Of Us
In 1954
Don't LaughI Keep All Of The Pictures
Are You Going To Take A Photograph
Here's Something Nice For You
A Dear Old Thing Came To A Show
Last Time Here We Did
An Interview On Local Radio
Make Yourself At Home My Darling
Come On In
Hand Me Down That Jar Love
Can I Offer You A Gin

We're Proud To Be The Oldest
Ugly Sisters In Variety
There's Not The Glamour Now
You SeeWhat Happened To Society
There's Another Light Bulb Gone
They Don't All Answer To The Switch
I Don't Know How We Carry On
And Her She Couldn't Care The Bitch
But In A Whi E The Old BoysIn The Band
Begin To Play
And In A While The HouselightsAnd The Curtains Slide Away

And Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day
Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day

Now The Landlady's All Squared Away
It's Just A Temporary Deal
I'm Afraid Tonight It's Take-Away
You See There Is No Evening Meal
Don't Worry Dear You Shall Go
To The BallI Think The Fairy Said
These Suitcases Have Seen It All
From Under Someone Else's Bed

You Want To Smile Those Tears Away
Now Don't You Cry
You Want To Know What I Say
I Say Never Say Die'

Cos Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day
Something's Going To Happen
To Make Your Whole Life Better
Your Whole Life Better One Day

One Short

I'm one star short of dusk
I'm one ray short of morn
I'm one stitch short of complete
I'm one rip short of torn

I'm one smile short of happy
I'm one tear short of sad
I'm one sense short of sane
I'm one quirk short of mad

I'm one straw short of breaking
but I'm just too tired to tell
If I'm one deed short of Heaven
or just one devil short of Hell

Shani's song

I'm bored out of my wits, can't somebody find
someone wretched, so I can apply my mind
to ruining someone's pointless life
by adding to pain, troubles and strife.

Let me glance around, maybe I'll spy
a one eyed man, so I can take away his eye
or a man with just one leg, so I'll have fun
watching him lose to gangerene, the other one.

For I'm Shani, the god with the power to change
people's fortunes a little, and help them exchange
pain for more pain, trouble for more trouble
If it can be halved, it must be made double.

I'm the little god who can't do miracles, and so I must
justify my existence by making a poor man go bust
And so by making a sad man spill more tears,
get some respect for at least Seven years.

Seven years shall he appease me, fall at my feet
lest he should small misfortunes meet
like an unforseen expense, when the rent's to be paid
a broken leg, when a job appointment is made

Seven years shall he give alms, but not just to the poor
but to the blind and the lame, those that I hold dear
And after the seven, he shall be free,
while another poor wretch, falls prey to me.

Designated Dolt

There's nothing a biker likes most than taking a good turn on the road, unhindered, at the perfect angle and the perfect speed. There is God to be found in every bend of the Macadamised. A perfect turn, perfectly executed is Zen itself.

And similarly, there is nothing more frustrating than a turn rendered wrong. Mostly because some slop in his sad excuse for a car decides not to apply his brains, and extends the application instead to his brakes.

You see crimson as you pull out of a turn, into a screeching halt, a swear on your lips and murder in your eye. You glance the glance of a thousand knives as you overtake the slob only to realize that he doesn't look like the sort who would ordinarily make a mistake like that.

Are all motorists on the road dolts? Can't be. Or are all motorists around you dolts? Cant be either. That's a generalization. I've sat in cabs and autorickshaws and the drivers, barring a few exceptions, have been competent, if not good. And this phenomena I have observed across many cities across India.

Where then, does one find the errant driver?

Let me propose a theory.

Consider the 'Designated Driver' at a party. He's the one to be found wistfully nursing his Virgin Mary, while his friends endeavour to test the limits of their Livers. On any other day, he's to be found partaking of the brewed and the distilled in quantities that would kill an elephant. But on this day, he is a timid teetotler who'll pass the -OH group for the H2O.

So on this day, he assumes the personality of someone who he's usually not, for a brief period of time. A personality that has been thrust upon him by his peer, for a designated time.

And so it is with the 'Dolts' on the road. Maybe they too are perfectly normal drivers but for the duration of some fleeting moments, they assume the mantle of the 'Designated Dolt' and can't help but act 'in character'. And then the moment passes to another who in turn causes his share of chaos.

I can almost bet that if you look closely enough at the people in the traffic, you can almost spot the 'Designated Dolt' of the moment, and watch the designation move across the length of the road.

Haven't you caught yourself doing something foolish on the road. Forgetting a turn, stalling your car, cutting someone off. Was it the real, rational, intelligent you that did that? No it was your 'Designated Dolt' self.

So on a bad day, you may just be unlucky enough to have many people around you, pass the mantle. On a good day, you may encounter only one.

I like the theory. Beats coming to terms with your bad driving. Or for that matter, your girlfriend's.

The Reason

Sorry Mates, long time no write..



The reason? This ----------------------------------------------->

Yes I'm talking about the Flickr link on the right hand side...

Since I got my new camera, I've been letting my pictures do the talking. Give me a month more and I shall get back to writing again.

I'm leaving for Delhi on the 13. Dillllleeeeeeeeeee meri Jaan. And then to Leh on the 16th. I'm touring Leh with my Dad. (It's not as bad as it seems, in fact it's great)

He's the coolest. I promise lots of posts and lots of photos... Check out my Flicker to know where all I've been since the last month.

One weekend in Mysore and Gopalswamibetta, an obscure but beautiful temple atop a hill near Bandipur.
Another weekend in Coorg
2 weekends in Chennai
a few days in Bombay
a weekend in Hogennakal (That's the waterfall where Roja was shot. Pretty as hell but also crowded as hell.)

All this in the last 1 month. I'm beginning to feel proud about my travels...

And also, I've bought myself a motorcycle. She's called Elizabeth, Liz for short, and she's a babe. The best sounding, best looking girl on the road..

Look forward for more action adventures next week with your friendly neighbourhood copywriter, right here on bosedk.blogspot

Ciao

Forgive them father

That's me after spending a night in the office, working on a presentation for 3M. It should have been a simple enough presentation untill the higher ups decided that this was to be a show of might. An example of our prowess and our willingness to prostate ourselves in front of anyone who flashes a wad of the goodies. And I'm led to the slaughter. Yet again.

Newbie

Just bought myself a spanking new Nikon D70s. Actually my Da bought it for me. I'm going to pay him back in installments. I've finally gone digital. After years of resisting it and doggedly staying with my Nikon F75 film camera.

One of the things I'm going to do is upload a large number of photos to my blogger that's been empty since the last time I borrowed my Da's D70 (When I went on my last Europe trip)

This photo is the first in a series where I intend to display my mood during the day with my wodden dummy. How long I'll remain interested in doing this over and over remains to be seen.

This is me in an intensely reading mood. I rarely read fast paced action novels but I managed to get my hands on a Ken Follett double paperback with 'Triple' and 'On wings of Angels' and can't seem to put it down. I'm shirking work and other useless stuff just to be able to cover a few pages more. The 'Eye of the Needle' was the first Ken Follett I read way back in boarding school and I was hooked to the man. The love scenes were mind blowing. Especially for a 10 year old.

I have since been able to complete quite a few of his novels and love this one too. I'm halfway throught Triple and hopefully should be able to complete it if servicing doesn't come around troubling me.

Gaana

One of my favourite Monty Python songs. They're the best.

And thanks Ravi, for the compliment. I'll try to keep up to your high standards. ;-)

Decomposing Composers

Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shopping no more.
You'll never meet Liszt or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer the door.

Schubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony,
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.

They're decomposing composers.
There's nothing much anyone can do.
You can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.

Handel and Haydn and Rachmaninov
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal,
But nowadays, no one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.

Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds
With their highly original sound.
The pianos they played are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.

They're decomposing composers.
There's less of them every year.
You can say what you like to Debussy,
But there's not much of him left to hear.

Claude Achille Debussy-- Died, 1918.

Christophe Willebald Gluck-- Died, 1787.

Carl Maria von Weber-- Not at all well, 1825. Died, 1826.

Giacomo Meyerbeer-- Still alive, 1863. Not still alive, 1864.

Modeste Mussorgsky-- 1880, going to parties. No fun anymore, 1881.

Johan Nepomuk Hummel-- Chatting away nineteen to the dozen with his mates down the pub every evening, 1836. 1837, nothing.

How Now Brown Cow

I pass a curious spectacle most days on my way to office. One that makes me smile as well as feel warm around the general direction of the heart.

If you ask me about the milk of human kindness, I'd say that it's pretty much run dry at the teat. But I'm glad to report that the milk of animal kindness is still flowing like the Nile in spate. It gushes like the Ganges, flows like the Florence and pretty much brims over like the Brahmaputra.

What I refer to is the unlikely alliance of a cow and a dog. While most dogs chase cows, and most cows kick dogs, these two exhibit a friendship based on nothing short of mutual respect. They are to be found lying in the middle of the road at a busy junction on my way to work.

I'd like to this moment to explain to my readers from other countries that cows are to be found commonly running amock in towns and cities all over India. It is not therefore a surprise to see an 18 wheeler humbled to a complete halt, to make way for a bovine being. And though my friends from foreign climes often whip out a camera at the sight, I simply yawn to show my disregard towards this mundane manifestation. And so it is common to see a cow lying down to rest in the middle of the street, while VIP cavalcades, buses, rickshaws and other methods of transportation amble by without a glance.

What makes this different is that the aforementioned duo sleep in each other's lie. The cow lies in the shape of a spoon so that the dog can complete the formation and lie in the space left over. This way, the dog is assured of uninterrupted sleep which would otherwise be cut short with either unabated honking, or death.

And since most relationships are two sided, I can only assume that the dog does something for the cow in its time of need. What it is, I can only imagine. Maybe it challenges other dogs that might otherwise pester the cow. Maybe it pesters other cows that seek to displace the cow from its appointed bedroom.

No matter what the reason, I am amused and humbled. If two species that are so genetically apart can be so accomodating, maybe there is hope for mankind after all.

That said, I need to go now. Got to kick servicing's ass for giving me the wrong brief. Wait till I get my hands on that little runt. Why I'm going to.......

Paro and I

Ours is an uncomplicated relationship. Mine and Paro's. When I've been with her, it's always been about just us. Our pasts and futures don't matter. The other people in our individual lives don't matter. We truly live in the moment. Shielded in an invisible cocoon, completely oblivious to the others around us.

I treat her to dinner and she in turn, grants me the privilege of her company. I don't mind. What's a few morsels of food compared to the immense pleasure of her company. And for the moment, she's mine. Completely mine. Brimming over with short-lived but unbridled love. And when the meter in her head clanks, she walks away from me.And I don't grudge her. She of the wayward ways. She of the full belly.

But today all that changed. She met me with her usual enthusiasm. But I had nothing to offer but my company. And that's not much to subsist on, even on a full belly. Not even enough for dessert.

And when the time had come for me to indicate an offer of nourishment. I had kept quiet.

At first she looked baffled. And though, I could see that she had realized that I was skint, her deameanour didn't divulge it. Maybe it was because I had never failed her in the past and she was willing to forgive one lapse in protocol. But soon the novelty had worn off. We sat there like two drinking companions meeting during Lent. She didn't want to leave me and go since I had been good to her. But her time was precious and there was nothing to be gained by sticking around.

And so, when she turned away to go, I still didn't grudge her. She of the scruffy neck. She of the wagging tail.

Apni dhun mein rehta hoon!

Apni Dhun mein rehta hoon.
Main bhi tere jaisa hoon.

Oh pichle baras ke saathi
Ab ke baras mein tanha hoon

Teri gali mein sara din
dukh ke kankar chunta hoon.

Mera diya jalaye kaun.
Mein sirf tera kamra hoon.

Apni laher hai apna rog
Dariya hoon aur pyasa hoon.

OK Computer!

My art director (the guy who designs the ads) told me about an interesting phenomena yesterday. Since he sits all day on the computer using software like Corel Draw and Photoshop, the effects of the software linger on long after he's left the office.

Like for example, whenever he does something wrong, he finds his fingers reaching out for Ctrl + Z cos his brain is saying 'Undo'. So if he's forgotten to carry his cellphone to office, his fingers reach for an imaginary Ctrl + Z. The same if he spills some coffee, or takes a wrong turn while driving his car.

He says that the effect is getting more pronounced every month. It is growing from a physcal act to a mental one. He finds himself wondering if he can 'Undo' words he has said, things he has done.

And I believe him. Something similar happens to me when I play NFS of FIFA 06 on the X-box for too long. It becomes difficult to drive normally on the road. You keep wanting to go to Nitro everytime you get a straight stretch of road. Similary, I keep wanting to press A or B to pass or score while watching a Football match on TV.

So of the effects of a 5 hour game is so pronounced, what about using the same software everday for over 7 hours at a stretch, 6 days a week, 4 odd weeks a month, 12 months an year.

So there might be something to the entire "Don't let kids play violent games" debate. After here we are two grown up, educated people feeling compulsion that don't make sense. The effects on an impressionable mind must be more pronounced.

Hmmmmmmm!!

...

People think of death as a fullstop. The end of a sentence. The culmination of a state of being. The climax. But what if life endures. What if it spills over, and carries on. And instead of a fullstop, what if life's more like a comma. A momentary pause before you continue your mission in another plane. I'd like to believe in a comma more than a full stop. So afterlife is not a new sentence, merely a continuation of what has already been said.

Maybe that's what we are. Sentences that go on till some sense has been made, with commas to accentuate certain learnings along the way. In that case, we add new words as we go along and use a comma to slip into another thought without having to change the sentence.

A sentence can have many commas, as long as it can, for example, this sentence, make some sort of sense. The idea is to have said something, to have made a statement about your life. The idea is to have less commas and distill your sentence into a succinct phrase, sans punctuation.

So a truly enlightened lifetime could read something like "I think therefore I am." instead of "Since I can think, and evaluate different thoughts and processes, it is natural to infer that my being constitutes of my thoughts and my own mirror of my conscious self."

And that would make ghosts, sentences in brackets. Stuck without an end, (in a state of suspension).

I know there are flaws in my theory but maybe if I think it throught, i might end at some conslusion. But I'm scared.

What if my sentence is something negative like "I'm wrong." Or "Learn from my mistakes".

But I don't fret that much. The universe, like a book requires all sorts of sentences to make sense. And being wrong doesn't make you a bad sentence. As long as the language is right and the meaning clear. I'd hate to be a sentence with a flaw, like a splenning mistake. Or uncorrect language.

Then you stick out like the last two sentences. And the editor may have to remove you. So you would have spent a lifetime, meaning nothing. Just a sentence that has been struck off.

Heavy Fuel

I saw first hand the indignities that time heaps on people when they grow old. It's not fair really. Watching someone who was once an alpha being turn into a helpless, zeta nobody. Some Red Indian tribes like the Irouquai would leave their old behind when they migrated. I wouldn't blame them. I'd rather be left behind and die in the cold, prepared to meet whatever comes my way, wolves or bears. At least I went down in a blaze of glory. Or as dinner. As nourishment for some being higher up in the foodchain than some worms underground.

It all hit home when I went to meet my uncle, my dad's elder brother. He's 14 years elder than my dad and was a stud in every sense of the word. He lost his right arm in the Indian-Pak war, and though it's been stitched back on, he hasn't been able to use it. In spite of this handicap, he's actively pursued his passions all his life. Tales abound of how he and my dad would drive across India in a Fiat Premier Padmini and later in a Maruti 800. He would light a cigarette with his left arm and lodge it between his fingers on the right arm, while driving non-stop for 9 hours at a stretch.

There's another instance where my dad, uncle and my grandfather had rushed into a cave in the jungles to escape from a sudden shower, when they heard a growl in the dark recesses of the cave. Everyone turned to see a leopard staring them down, ready to pounce, since it felt threatened and was caught with its back to the wall. My uncle calmly raised his rifle, kept it on my dad's shoulders and shot it throught the heart.

This man. This killer of leopards. This master of miles. This conquerer of fear is today afflicted with diabetese and finds it tough to climb a fleet of 5 steps.

And though my awe of him doesn't ever show signs of diminishing, no matter how old and fragile he gets, I can't help but feel that life should have been a little kinder to him. Him, of all people.

I don't want to grow old and worry about insulin shots and pensions coming to the bank and medical policies. I'd rather call it quits while I'm ahead. I am against suicide and wouldn't ever let life's problems push me into a cowardly act like that.

But is it cowardly when I'm 60 and think I have done all I can in my life? I won't be commiting suicide. I'd be retiring. From life. That's all.

Like Knopfler said

"With my ugly big car,
I'm going to climb this hill.
I'll write a suicide note,
on a hundred dollar bill.

Cos if you want to run cool,
you ve got to run on heavy fuel."

Black magic music

Art Blakey and the Jazz Giants - what can I say. I was blown away by the sheer energy of the album. You could power the city of Bangalore if only we could learn how to tap it. And what's amazing is that he started out a pianist and was forcibly steered towards the skins virtually at gun point. And a damn good thing it was I must say. Or the world would have been bereft of a drummer par excellance.

He started playing on my stereo last night and I couldnt let him stop. I kept him in an eternal loop till I released him at 5 in the morning. And come 10 o clock, he's playing again on my laptop in the office. Sorry Art, you know what they say. There's no rest for the wicked.

Motorhead

Hi-Torque, lo-torque, swing suspension, fixed suspension, 62's better than 67's. That's the lingo I dabble in nowadays. I'm considering buying a bike you see. I'm tired of waiting for good cruisers to come into India. I'll settle for a 350cc Royal Enfield instead. But I need an old model, 62 batch. And looking for it ain't easy.

It should come for around 12K. Another 20K spent on it to suit my preferences and I wouldn't need to beg others for a mount to ride off over the weekend. My parents would give me hell for it but it's ok. You see I've had two really bad crashes and they now fear for my life. The last one left me bed-ridden for 2 months with a cast the size of Antarctica. And I refused to get plates put into my leg, so I had to wear the cast for over 6 months. I moved around with crutches. But that was years back.

I will buy this bike. And so I shall have three means of transportation at my disposal. A car, a Motorbike and a bicycle. Four, if you count my Willys Jeep back in Delhi. Four means of transportation spanning four technologies and three types of fuel. What more can a man ask for.

World peace?

Scribbles

I haven't been writing much, simply because I have been sketching a lot. I've been scribbling away furiously with any instrument I can find, on any medium I could find. Since Monday, I haven't ceased scribbling.

It's like I just discovered I could draw and now I can't seem to stop. Anything from lighters to mobile phones to even fruits. Yesterday I spent the 3 hours in a meeting, scribbling on a pad, furiously sketching everything in sight. Pens, staplers, people, blinds, Ac vents, chairs... everything. At the end I realized that the pad belonged to the client and so I had to tear the pages and take them away with me before he realized what I had been up to during the meeting.

I've hatched and cross hatched myself onto every piece of paper on my table. Even the walls bear the brunt of my new-found love. How long it lasts, remains to be seen. Think I'll scan some of them and put them up on my blog.

It began, like most things do, with a 8B Staedtler pencil I bought on Sunday. I had decided to go and check out the Queen Victoria and KKing Edward statues put up by the Brits to commemorate their reign.

Puzzles

I have a funny feeling that one of these days I'm going to solve one of life's puzzles. It started with a rubic cube that someone got to office from one of their travels to bangkok. It's not a normal rubic's cube as in, it doesn't slide only on two axsis. It's one of those that come apart with interconnected parts. So when he unravelled it, he was left with a long string of interconnected cubes. It was lying around in the office and everyone tried their hands at it. But to no avail.

I walked in yesterday, and on my cigarette break, managed to solve it in 8 minutes flat. I just used the process of elimination, if it doesn't go here, it must go there. And soon I had it beaten. The guy refused to believe that I solved it and he unravelled it again. But try as I might, I'm not able to solve it again. I think, this time I'm trying too hard. I'm trying to look for a pattern consciously, whereas I should just play with it and let my sub-conscious take over.

And today, while giving it another shot, I managed to nearly put it together. Just that I missed out the pivotal segment in the middle. It got me thinking, if I find that pivotal part of my universe, I might be able to sort my life out too. And so i began to sift out the variables in my life and look for the constants.

It's not easy, I'll tell you that. Your heart wants to label something a constant, when you head tells you that it's just a variable. And sometimes, your head tells you that one component is a constant when your heart just glances at it and discards it as a variable. The challenge is to truly look at things with your soul and decide, without your heart or mind colouring your choice. That's the zen way to do it.

I have a feeling I shall be able to do just that in the near future.